


The Birds and the Bees and the Fade

by Metal_mako_dragon



Series: Alls Well that Ends Well [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Guilt, Justice is enlightened, M/M, Snogging, Unresolved Sexual Tension, drunken fighting, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_mako_dragon/pseuds/Metal_mako_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, this wasn't embarrassing at all, Anders thought ruefully. It was almost as bad as the time Justice had asked Nathaniel to tell him about sex, only not quite as humorous." - 'A Life Less Ordinary' Chapter 2</p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Perhaps asking a rather depressed Anders to join them for a night of drunken revelry hadn't been the smartest move Lien Cousland had ever made. But perhaps Justice would be the judge of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birds and the Bees and the Fade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedIn/gifts).



> Written for RedIn, who inspired this fic by asking for an elaboration ; ) hope it's up to standard!
> 
> Part of the 'A Life Less Ordinary' universe.

He would never get used to it. The heart slowing, the eyes clouding and the desperate gasping, a hand reaching out wildly to search for him, sometimes managing to grab his coat in white knuckled fingers before it, inevitably, slackened. Anders sat back and laid his hands on his knees.

“Too late?” Cousland asked, his voice steady and to the point.

He nodded in reply. The body of the woman was lifted up before him and carried over to where the rest lay. He looked to it, the piling of corpses, and tried to comprehend the loss. It wasn’t something he thought he would ever understand, not truly. He remembered his own botched attempt to reach the same fate. There was never a more poignant time than now to feel like a fool.

The village had been ravaged by the Darkspawn before they had arrived, and the creatures were gone. Few were even breathing when he had rushed in while their troop secured the area, eyes scanning the bodies littering the ground. He felt guilty that he wished there had been no one breathing at all. It was easier they die at another’s hands and not at his.

“You feel responsible,” Anders looked up over his left shoulder to find the source of the question that was not a question; Justice stood there, his human form belayed by his shining eyes, and for a moment Anders couldn’t contain himself. He stood on stiff legs and scowled.

“I suppose death is of no consequence to you,” he spat out, “how dare you ask me that when you stand there in another’s skin!”

It had taken longer than usual to calm down. Cousland had learned when to avoid him, or more than likely he had learned when it was of no use to try and console him. When Anders was angry there was no stopping the feeling, no abating it or placating it. He couldn’t stand to lose people and yet he did. There was nothing left to do but wait out the fire and hope that the cold embers weren’t too damaging.

It was ten o’clock before he finished his shift on the wall. Keeping his eyes busy with the growing darkness and his mind busy with ticking away the seconds. He had thought guard duty would maybe distract him, yet all it had done was give him time to brood. Anders walked down the stairs feeling as if he were waiting for someone to grab at him and ask him why he hadn’t been enough, why he hadn’t tried harder. Instead he found Velanna, leaning against the inside of the stone archway and tapping her nails against her forearm.

“Look what the cat dragged down,” she said.

“Just move,” Anders said with a terse sigh, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Not even for a drink?” she said with a quirked eyebrow.

“With you?” he replied, verging on a sneer, “I’d rather sit on a hot spike.”

“Hmm,” she stood up and let him pass, “Cousland was right, you are in a fouler mood than usual.”

His room was cold when he reached it but he walked over to the bed nevertheless, pulling the covers back and sitting down. He stared at the unlit hearth and wished that he could find the wherewithal to get up and light it. He was shivering, five hours on top of the Keep walls with no shelter could do that to you, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. He sat and stared at the opposite wall until the darkness made it impossible to see. When the door opened the stabbing light from the hallway made him squint in pain.

“Alright, get the fuck up off that bed now,” Cousland didn’t sound angry, more frustrated than anything else.

“I’m tired,” Anders lied, “I want to go to sleep.”

“If you disobey another direct order Anders,” Cousland said tightly, “I’ll have you taken outside and made an example of.”

“Sounds lovely,” he said back acerbically.

“You think I’m joking, don’t you soldier,” the Commander’s grey eyes were only just distinguishable in the gloom, “get up and follow me before I make good on that promise.”

It was difficult to continue arguing with someone when they gave you no chance to. Cousland turned from the doorway and left without another word, both an irritating and reassuring gesture. He’s so used to getting his own bloody way, Anders thought angrily as he stood. His legs gave him trouble as he stumbled after his superior, stiff and painful as they were. He tried to comfort himself in thinking that he would be behind by now anyway, the others would have had far too much to drink. Hopefully they’ll all be asleep in an hour and I can leave, he thought, then I can laugh at their hangovers tomorrow and make myself feel better.

“Where was he hiding this time?” were the words he was greeted with as he entered Cousland’s private dining room; not as fancy as it sounded, consisting of a long wooden table, twelve chairs, two worse for wear candelabras and a large cabinet full of alcohol. Not much dining was ever performed here, unless you liked a liquid diet. Nathaniel Howe had addressed his question to Cousland, only putting Anders’ back up further.

“Same as usual,” Cousland continued the charade.

Anders sat down without rising to the bait and took the nearest clean glass in his hand. He looked left and found Justice sitting there, straight backed and hands folded upon the table. He sighed roughly and turned to his right, finding Oghren there. He held out his empty glass and the dwarf simply grinned.

“Yer coming to me for booze?” Oghren said, “You must be in a rough mood.”

He would have agreed if he’d cared enough to join in. Instead he waited for the dwarf to fill his glass and then went about consuming as much of the gut rot Oghren was willing to doll out. Nathaniel and Cousland talked, a background noise, while Velanna and one of the senior female wardens shared sordid stories that he only half paid attention to and Oghren tried his best to impose upon. Justice was oddly quiet. Whenever Anders looked to the spirit out of the corner of his eye he found him simply observing the proceedings. Somehow that only served to make him more annoyed with the spirit. He spent the next hour studiously ignoring anyone who wasn’t willing to simply hand him a full glass and then leave him be.

When Oghren’s supply ran out Anders moved on to the large bottle of whatever the fuck was sitting in the middle of the table. That was when he took enough time to realise that they were already three people down. Velanna and the other Warden were gone, as was Oghren, suspiciously. Anders looked up, blinking the drunken sheen from over his eyes and found Cousland and Nathaniel watching Justice with rather comical looks of surprise and confusion.

“I’m too drunk for this.”

Cousland stood, with a sway in his step, and left. Anders frowned. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on but couldn’t find a way to form the right words before Cousland had stumbled out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. Anders watched the door with a frown, swallowing another mouthful of what tasted like ale. He looked down and checked his glass. Yes, ale. Good. Then he turned back to Nathaniel. It was with drunken interest that he noticed Howe’s cheeks were an interesting shade of pink which matched his already red nose.

“I do not understand your prudishness on this subject,” Justice spoke with the voice of a school teacher.

 “What?” Anders slurred out; in the course of Maker knew how much of Oghren’s home brew and Andraste knew how much ale and spirits on top of that, he had forgotten why he had been so irrationally angry at Justice in the first place, “What are you talkin’ about?”

“I was simply inquiring...” Justice began, in his usual abysmally blunt tone.

“It was nothing,” Nathaniel interrupted, looking around the room as if to check there was no one else left.

“...as to physical human sexual relationships,” Justice continued as if Howe had never spoken, “this is a subject I find most fascinating. It is so alien to my kind.”

The alcohol had helped. He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t need it, he’d just not wanted to believe that he couldn’t stand his own guilt and loss on his own. He wanted to believe he was strong enough to take it for what it was and live through it. Yet this, Justice’s sincere expression with Nathaniel’s tight lipped, blank face in the background, was enough to sort everything out. Anders let out a snort and covered his mouth with his free hand, smothering the laugh that crept out through his open fingers.

“And you asked _Nathaniel_?” he said through a half cackle, half hiccough.

“I did not direct my question at any one person,” Justice clarified, “it is simply restricted by who was willing to answer me. However, prudishness seems to...”

“It is not...it is not _prudishness_ ,” Nathaniel interrupted once more, stopping to take a swig from his tankard, “it is simple human decency.”

“No, no,” Anders laughed again, feeling his mouth run away with him as the stout and the ale slid around inside him, “it’s prudishness.”

“You say that as if they’re something wrong with that,” Nathaniel groused.

Anders smirked; Nathaniel was drunk. His usual eloquence had left him in favour of repetition and antagonism. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Nathaniel, he just disliked the man’s arrogance, his standoffishness. That and the fact that he hadn’t really come to terms with the fact that mages were people too, to be trusted like any other. He knew Nathaniel was wary of him, it just made him all the easier to tease. Also the fact that they had found Howe lying in wait in the basement, ready to assassinate the one man Anders could call his closest friend, hadn’t put them on the best of terms. Anders leaned forwards onto the table and breathed in, placing his chin carelessly in his left palm.

“Just sayin’ you’re not the best person to ask,” Anders shrugged as much as he could considering his position.

“Slander is the basest form of argument,” Nathaniel tried to sound haughty but as the word ‘argument’ had come out more like ‘agumnt’ he didn’t manage to pull it off.

“Says the man who’s so up his own arsehole I’m surprised you can’t see what you had for breakfast,” Anders said lazily, enjoying the rise he was getting out of the nobleman.

“This is ludi-ludirc...this is silly,” Nathaniel sat back in his chair and pushed his loose hair out of his face, “I am more than good enough to give advice about this sort of thing, I’ll have you know.”

“Of course you are,” Anders said in a conciliatory, sarcastic tone, “I bet the only thing you’ve ever stuck your dick in is attached to the end of your right arm,” he continued, wiggling his fingers and chuckling nastily.

“Coming from a mage,” Nathaniel said, “I won’t take that as much of an insult, as I’ve heard your kind will fuck anything with a pulse.”

There was a moment, even through the thick haze of alcohol and the warm fuzzy feeling that came with heavy intoxication, that Anders was sure he was stunned, on some level. Unfortunately, being blind drunk, he didn’t exactly react in a civilised manner. By this point he had completely forgotten that Justice was still in the room at all.

“Oh, big words coming from the man who’s probably never seen a woman naked,” Anders bit back, “what’s the matter? Afraid you might have to do something unsavoury like all us other mere mortals?”

“At least I’m interested in women,” Nathaniel said with scorn, making Anders' fingers curl tight around his glass.

“I’m interested enough in women,” Anders said as he downed the last of his drink; he was angry, he was upset and he was spoiling for a fight. The fair amount of spirits he had consumed earlier didn’t help in any way. He stared at Nathaniel through narrowed eyes which his smile didn’t reach, “I’m just man enough to admit I like a good, big cock now and then.”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” Nathaniel said, his face flushed as he avoided Anders’ eyes, standing unsteadily, “everything about you is unnatural, after all.”

It may have been the disdain in his voice, or the insinuation that his magical ability somehow made him _unnatural_. More than likely he just wanted to beat the shit out of something and Nathaniel had unwittingly offered himself up. Whatever it was, Anders found that he moved very fast and smooth even when he had enough alcohol in him to put a horse out cold. He jumped up onto his seat and over the table with a snarl, knocking into Howe and sending them both flying to the hard, stone floor.

He threw the first punch, as he sat astride Howe who was left struggling beneath him from surprise, taking him square across the jaw. He managed to get in one more hit before Howe reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking him unexpectedly to the right and using the leverage of the table to flip them over. Anders knocked his head against the floor with a heavy thud, making his head ring. He snarled and tried to dislodge Nathaniel’s grip on his hair whilst trying his best to stop the rogue’s legs from pinning him to the ground. The first punch was sloppy, taking him straight in the right eye, making him hiss in pain and squeeze his eye shut, even as it welled with water. The second was just as uncoordinated but significantly stronger, landing against his ribcage. Anders wanted nothing more than to lash out, knowing full well that he could dislodge Howe with ease, but even drunk as he was he refused to use magic against the man. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to control himself, angry and inebriated as he was. His hesitation cost him his advantage and he took the next punch to the stomach, letting out a hacking cough as it winded him. Nathaniel knelt up, allowing Anders to roll onto his side, curling in on himself as he coughed roughly and pulled himself slowly across the ground.

“How dare you,” Nathaniel sounded odd but Anders couldn’t see him through the involuntary tears that had sprung up as soon as the breath was knocked from him, “you bastard, how _dare_ you.”

He didn’t care anymore. That much he knew. Which was why, after crawling away a few feet, he pulled back his leg and let out a sharp kick into his best guess of where Howe’s chest was. Think I’ll go down without a fight do you, you little shit? Anders thought. He felt oddly alive as the two of them fought drunkenly and uncoordinatedly, missing hits that should have connected, wrestling tightly because it was too much effort to do anything else. After another few minutes of rolling around on the floor Anders found himself on his back again, both his hands in Howe’s firm archer’s grip, his chest heaving as he struggled wildly. Howe was forced to lean down across him to keep him still and, in the process, found himself writhing beneath the muscled form atop him.

“Get off me,” he breathed out angrily, staring up at Howe’s strangely impassive face, “get _off_ me!”

There was no rhyme nor reason to it, as far as he could tell. One minute they were fighting like cat and dog, the next Howe had his tongue down Anders’ throat. If he had been more aware he might have tried to get his hand free and punch the man, push him away, bite his tongue, anything. As it was Anders found it hard to care. It was a distraction as much as fighting had been, as much as drinking had been. He just didn’t want to think about that woman’s terrified eyes as she stared up at him while the life left her. Anything but that. So he allowed Nathaniel his moment of insanity, even if the kiss itself was somewhat amateurish. The hand around his wrists tightened painfully. Anders let out a discomfited moan and tried to pull his head away. He found a hand around his chin for his troubles, holding him still. Howe’s grip loosened, the pain lessened, the kiss deepened. He shifted his legs, pulling one up towards him. He felt his knee push its way between Howe’s legs, continuing up until it pressed against something hot and hard. The kiss stopped abruptly, Nathaniel pulling away with a gasp, his eyes wide and panicked.

The next thing he knew the man had stumbled to his feet and rushed, no matter how much furniture he had to use as a support, out of the room. Anders was left lying on the floor, his arms above his head, staring at the ceiling. Only then did he realise how cold it was.

“So,” came a distinctly unperturbed sounding voice, “am I to take that as a guide, of sorts?”

Anders pushed up into a sitting position, hissing at the pain in his ribs and his head as the blood rushed to it. He looked up at Justice who he found still sitting in his chair, regarding Anders as a pupil would a teacher.

“Only I have not heard there was so much violence involved,” Justice said.

 “Well,” Anders replied after a pause during which he tried to comprehend what had just happened, “maybe you’re just talking to the wrong people, Justice.”

 

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck happened to your eye?”

He sat down at the breakfast table, trying to block out the noisy chatter of the Dawn Watch who were coming in from their shift on the wall, and nurse his pounding headache. When he looked to his left it was to find Cousland watching him with a deep frown. Anders simply continued to drink Oghren’s patented hangover cure and try not to curl up and die.

“Fell over,” he lied convincingly.

“Huh,” Cousland said, sounding unconvinced, “and what happened to Nathaniel’s face?”

“Fell over,” Anders repeated, only sparing a quick glance down the table to find Howe sitting as far away from them both as possible, staring sightlessly into the milky porridge before him that looked untouched.

“Right,” Cousland stretched out the word, as if to emphasise Anders’ own bullshit, “look, I’m all for a letting off steam but I’d rather you two didn’t go at it. You’re senior wardens for Maker’s sake, set an example will you?”

“Says you,” Anders said without malice, “you forced me to bloody drink last night, no matter that it was a terrible idea.”

“I didn’t force you to do anything,” Cousland said back through a mouthful of bread and butter, “other than stop worrying yourself into an early grave. I can’t stand it when you mope about.”

Conversation died down. Anders kept his eyes firmly on the table before him and accepted only a mug of hot tea from the cook. He was so preoccupied with not throwing up that he didn’t notice who had sat down on the other side of the Commander until he tuned in to the voice.

“So you don’t disapprove of our drunken revelling then?” Cousland sounded facetious yet friendly.

“Not at all,” Justice replied, “in fact I found the evening to be very educational.”

My cue to leave, Anders thought with a little nausea as he picked up his mug and stood, trying his best to sneak out of the room undetected. Out the corner of one eye he noticed Howe trying the same tactic.

“Yes,” Justice continued, “I found the ritualistic courtship of your human male to be most fascinating. Serrah Howe and Serrah Anders were most obliging.”

“I beg your pardon,” Anders heard Cousland say in what may have been either complete disbelief or suppressed hilarity as Anders walked out of the door, “could you repeat that?”

He walked down the corridor and turned the corner, where he stood and waited. The sound of slow footsteps could be heard approaching. Soon the face of Nathaniel Howe, sporting a large bruise on his left cheek and a purple shade to his left eye, rounded the corner and stopped on seeing him. Anders looked at him critically for a few seconds while the awkward silence lingered.

“We speak of this to no-one,” Anders said finally.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Howe said grumpily.

“It’s our word against his,” Anders sighed as he closed his eyes and rubbed his right temple with his free hand, “we’ll say he misunderstood.”

There was another awkward silence. Anders opened his eyes to find Nathaniel watching him as closely as he could through eyes slit against the morning light. He frowned.

“What?” he asked, even though he was sure he didn’t want to know. The last thing he wanted was drama.

“I wanted to...to apologise,” Howe said stiffly, “I acted out of sorts and...I’m sorry.”

“Me and you both,” Anders sighed, “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve had far less attractive people try and molest me when I’ve been drunk.”

“I...I don’t want to know,” Nathaniel said blithely before turning around and walking towards the barracks.

Anders smirked as he watched the archer shuffle away. I’m sure you don’t, he thought sarcastically, I’m sure you don’t.


End file.
